His Master's Voice
by IsisLestrange
Summary: A oneshot of Harry's second year belonging to Voldemort


His Master's Voice

Harry woke the usual way, with Voldemort's cool fingers running tenderly down his cheek and throat.

"Good morning, Harry." Yawning and groaning a little, Harry stretched himself out across the bed before sitting up and allowing Voldemort to trail kisses hungrily along his neck and chest.

"You look beautiful this morning." Harry's face remained expressionless as he let Voldemort to stroke his hair, until suddenly his hair was painfully grabbed and his head wrenched up.

"Harry, I'm talking to you."

Harry made an apologetic face and nuzzled his head into Voldemort's hand.

"That's better. Off you go and get dressed then." Harry scurried off to the bathroom to wash his face before putting on the clothes his master had laid out for him.

Every morning for the past year had been the same. The ones before that had been different, worse, but Harry could hardly remember them. It'd been nearly two years since he had first become Voldemort's, and the routine was always the same. It did at least make it far easier for Harry to follow Voldemort's wishes and avoid any more punishments. Harry knew exactly what was expected of him, and it rarely occurred to him anymore to disobey.

They set off together down the corridor for their usual walk. Harry got taken outside once in the morning and once in the evening, always, even if it was raining or snowing. On this particular day it was quite sunny, but still cold, a typical October day. Voldemort wrapped Harry's cloak around him, taking care to fasten it all the way to the top, before taking Harry's hand and setting off around the gardens.

Sometimes on these walks Voldemort would speak to Harry about work, or about something he was reading or even just something he'd been thinking about. Other times he remained silent, but either way Harry never spoke. He'd been mute since the day he first arrived at Voldemort's home. It made little difference to Voldemort, he could read Harry's mind easily if he ever wanted to know what he was thinking. With Harry's defenses completely broken down, it was easier to do so now than it had ever been.

Voldemort was busy telling Harry about his time in Egypt many years ago when suddenly a bird took flight from the tree above them causing Harry to gasp and look around wildly.

"Hey shh, shhh. It's ok sweet one, it's just a bird. It's ok."

Shushing comfortingly, Voldemort pulled Harry's shaking body into his own and held him there until the quivering stopped. Eventually stepping back, Voldemort smiled reassuringly down at Harry and stroked his face.

"Did that scare you little one?"

Harry nodded.

"Don't you know you're always safe with me?"

Harry nodded again, but Voldemort caught the wince that accompanied it, and saw in Harry's mind fleeting memories of his first days in Voldemort's manor. Sometimes, in a swift moment, Harry would have complete clarity in his memories, and then as quickly as they'd come they'd be gone again.

They finished the rest of their walk in silence and on returning Harry rushed straight over to the bed and curled up gratefully beside the footboard with his eyes tightly shut. At first he didn't even move when Voldemort returned with his breakfast, but after a little nudge he sat up and looked down at his knees.

"Harry, look at me."

Harry met Voldemort's eyes for barely a second before looking away.

"Look at me." His master's voice was firmer this time.

Harry managed to maintain eye contact the second time but Voldemort could tell he was desperate to look away.

"I don't want you to think about anything that makes you feel unhappy. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Good, now come and have your breakfast."

Harry usually slept after breakfast, being too full most of the time to do much else. Voldemort always left for work once he'd made sure Harry had eaten enough. He gave Harry the best of everything, only the very best foods, a wide variety of toys and books to keep him entertained in the daytime, and a specially made fleece lined cushion bed for when he didn't want to sleep with Voldemort.

Despite Voldemort's best efforts, passing the time was not easy for Harry. He woke with a start at around midday and could not slip back into sleep. The room was achingly silent when he was on his own; he wished Voldemort would leave him some music. He lay on the bed a while longer, inhaling Voldemort's smell from the sheets and trying to pretend his master was still there. Eventually he rose from the bed and stumbled sleepily over to the window to see if it was still sunny. He settled on the window seat in the milky sunlight and started to read the new book he had chosen from the selection Voldemort had given him.

At half past one, Voldemort's house elf, Blake, would bring Harry lunch and sit and chat to him while he ate it. He would then get Harry to help him, on Voldemort's instruction, to make the bed and tidy their quarters. But before long Harry would be left alone again.

* * *

><p>When Voldemort returned that evening it was to find Harry lying on the floor by the fire with a large pad of paper before him. Art was one of Harry's primary distractions. Harry heard Voldemort close the door behind him and looked up, startled. He got up immediately and went to Voldemort, throwing his arms around him.<p>

"Did you miss me little one?"

Harry nodded and withdrew from the hug. He looked suddenly fearful when he saw the colourful chalk marks he'd left behind on Voldemort's robes. He looked quickly up at Voldemort to see if he was angry and seeing his master's raised eyebrow panicked him, causing him to look away. If only he could speak so he could apologise and beg not to be hurt. But Voldemort just smiled and shook his head fondly.

"Don't worry pet. It's no problem, see?"

He drew his wand over the marks and they vanished instantly.

"Are you going to show me what you're working on?"

Harry blushed, he hated showing Voldemort his art. When he'd first been bought art materials he'd tried to hide his work around the room before Voldemort got home, but he'd been beaten when they were discovered, so he didn't do that anymore. He hated that Voldemort always told him his work was good when it wasn't. He knew it wasn't, but just the act of doing it sometimes helped him feel better.

His master followed him over to the fireplace where Harry very neatly had his little art studio set up.

"It's very good, is it finished?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well perhaps you'll finish it tomorrow. It's time to put all this away now."

Harry hurriedly set about tidying his things away and then went to wait by the door for his evening walk, feeling both nervous and relieved that his master had returned home. His days spent alone in Voldemort's rooms were empty, but his master's presence filled the room. There would be sound again, interaction, instruction and a lot less time to think.

That day Voldemort was far from silent on their evening walk. He had all sorts of things to tell Harry about his day out in the world, about people and places and politics, and Harry listened attentively. There weren't many things Harry appreciated about his master, but he was always grateful that Voldemort bothered to talk to him, even though he couldn't talk back. Blake did too, but Harry was pretty sure he'd been ordered to. Harry supposed he was the only one Voldemort felt he could talk to so casually. Suddenly filled with gratitude, Harry wrapped his arms around Voldemort's middle, squeezing him tightly before going up on his toes to press his lips against Voldemort's. His master seemed surprised at first, but responded hungrily, holding Harry firm against his body. He smiled smugly against Harry's lips as he felt the boy's desperate need for him. He slid his hands inside Harry's cloak and under his shirt, seeking out his soft, warm skin. Harry moaned, breaking away from the kiss and resting his forehead against Voldemort's shoulder, eyes closed in bliss.

"Is that nice little one?"

Harry nodded, and Voldemort's brief glance into Harry's mind proved it to be true. Voldemort's plan had worked perfectly. He'd turned a fiery, reckless enemy into a docile little pet who sought comfort in him, craved him even.

"You're so precious to me Harry."

To Harry's disappointment, Voldemort was mostly silent at dinner. Harry knew his master had a lot on his mind; he experienced things every day that Harry hadn't experienced in years. Harry rarely saw anyone other than Voldemort and Blake, he knew nothing of the events of the outside world other than what he heard from his master and he certainly never left the manor or its grounds. When Voldemort spoke to him, it was almost as if Harry was reconnected with the world, like he could share in his master's experiences, or at least the thought of them.

Towards the end of the meal Harry looked up at Voldemort pleadingly. Voldemort was a little taken aback by the force of the look Harry was giving him, he wasn't used to such directness from the boy, but didn't have to invade Harry's mind to know that he was begging him to speak, to just say anything.

"Did you want me to speak?"

Harry nodded frantically.

"Are you feeling anxious again?" Voldemort asked, a concerned expression on his face. Harry broke eye contact and looked back down at his plate. Voldemort leant forward and placed his fingers on Harry's wrist, frowning.

"Your pulse is up," He sounded almost accusatory, "What are you afraid of?"

To his dismay, he saw tears start to slide down Harry's cheeks. He loathed having to be patient with Harry when he got upset.

"Hey, pet, shhh shhh, come here."

Voldemort slid his chair back away from the table and patted his lap. Harry hesitated slightly before obeying, an action that normally would see him severely punished. That thought only made his tears flow faster. Voldemort was immensely grateful that Harry even cried quietly. Harry settled into place on Voldemort's lap and leant against his master's chest.

"Now what could you possibly have to be afraid of hmmm?" The sound of his master's voice had the power to both soothe and terrify Harry. He tried to envelope himself in Voldemort's familiar smell, the feel of his robes against Harry's face, which so often relaxed him. Voldemort knew the answer already of course; Harry was still, on occasion, terrified of him, and for good reason. Although Harry rarely had strong visual memories of the things Voldemort had done to him, whenever his master entered his mind at times like these he found remnants of a strong, incapacitating terror.

"You know I care about you don't you? And you know I only do what's best for you?"

Harry nodded but Voldemort knew he was still afraid.

"Have you finished your dinner?"

More nodding.

"Come then, let's put your bath on." After lifting Harry up off his lap, Voldemort took the boy's trembling hand in his own and led him to the bathroom.

"Take off your clothes then sweet one." Voldemort waved his wand and the taps immediately started gushing warm, sweet-smelling water. Harry's expression was completely blank as he removed his clothes and allowed himself to be guided into the hot water. Voldemort knelt beside him and summoned a washcloth. Harry screwed his eyes tightly shut.

"Hey. Come on now. This will relax you."

Harry tried to zone out while Voldemort washed his body but he could feel his panic growing inside his chest. But there was nothing he could do to make it stop. He couldn't even ask Voldemort to stop, as if he would. He felt totally used and powerless as Voldemort's hands slid over him. He focused on trying to control his breathing, and ignoring the voice in his head berating him for his inability to even speak up.

Finally it was over and he was safely wrapped in a bathrobe and left to his own devices for the evening whilst Voldemort got on with his reading. His master read every night, that was part of their routine. Harry put on his pajamas and drank down the warm milk that Blake brought him. Eventually the calming draught began to kick in and he yawned quietly away in the corner pretending to read his book until his master called for him. He immediately joined Voldemort on the sofa by the fire.

"Are you feeling better little one?"

He nodded. He did feel better.

"Good. Won't you sit with me?"

Harry smiled. Voldemort wanted his company. After all, there was no other reason he would feel the need to ask for it. This man really did care about Harry, he was silly to have got so panicky over nothing, and his master had been so patient with him. Harry just had to be good to his master, and his master would be good to him, it was that simple. He lay down on the sofa and nuzzled his head against Voldemort's thigh before resting it there and closing his eyes. The hand not holding Voldemort's book came to rest in Harry's hair where it soothingly massaged Harry's scalp until he fell asleep. Voldemort couldn't help but smirk when he saw the contented look on Harry's face. This game was so easy. At 11 O'clock exactly, Voldemort gently lifted Harry's head off his lap, causing the boy to wake. Harry felt his master's hand caress his cheek and leant into the touch, smiling appreciatively. He felt so completely safe.

"Did you want to sleep in my bed or yours tonight little one?"

Harry looked over at Voldemort's bed and smiled before leaning up to plant a small kiss on his master's cheek.

"Mine it is then."


End file.
